


day 1/2 - One Friday of Many

by Tarredion



Series: one Friday, many Fridays [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion
Summary: Dan and Phil wake up with a varying sense of familiarity of the day they're ploughing through.Weren't they meant to wake on a Saturday, and why does Phil remember being thrown into a pool when he never has been?(Part 1/?)





	day 1/2 - One Friday of Many

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a confusing read, but I do hope at least one person out there might enjoy it!
> 
> This'll be part of a series, so don't worry: this isn't incomplete
> 
> (written for Phandom bingo 2019)

**Hassle, cold and bitter.**

Phil feels like he’s been thrown in the deep end of a dark and murky pool. Maybe he has. 

His senses are heightened, and a lingering taste of chamomile, chlorine, and icy dew swirls on his tongue. Crispy and thick reminiscence of dirt pricks at the insides of his cheeks. The feeling makes him unsure and sweaty in a panicky way, his blood chilling and his skin clamping. 

_ “Fight!” “Fight!” “Punch him!” “Yes!” “Get him Blake!” _

Phil’s eyes suddenly shoot open at the que of a gunshot, expecting a cry of pain. He was met with silence.

The cool and damp iridescent grass he last remembered was gone too, replaced by a hard mattress, and air that was gooey and sweltering around his naked form. 

A stir next to him makes him toss on the spot, facing the other side of the bed, eyes pinned open. The only sound that escaped him next  _ w _ as a cry. Of familiarity. And… confusion?

\- / - / - / -

**Homespun, hot and sweet.**

Darkness veils his figure. He feels at peace. There’s a tugging at his heartstrings, a river of sunlight and pearlescent mist pours into the inky ravine of his soul. 

Not that souls are a real thing. 

But Dan, floating in this void of drowsing and comfort, simply cannot comprehend that. His mind refuses to ponder and grumble over matterless matters. He travels thoughtless, a shrouding haze dancing beneath his eyelids. 

_ “I’m sure he’ll call, Daniel, just wait. Sleep tight darling!” _

All of a sudden the fog clears. Like a truck at full speed, the recognizable smells and sounds of his homestead rams into him, knocking air out of his lungs and making his gut wrench.

Dan tosses and turns, rousing his own sleep.

And then a sudden cry from deep within the darkness washes over him. He jerks awake.

\- / - / - / -

**Aegis,** **sedative and sunny.**

The soft burrow of Dan’s collarbone collides with the bridge of his nose, and Phil sucks in a deep breath. 

“Dan!” he shouts, muffled, splitting his voice away from the previous cry.

Citrusy, laden, and rather warm. That’s the only way to paint the fragrance he can call his personal safety blanket. Phil knows he is safe here, in Dan’s arms, in Dan’s bed, in Dan’s home. Well, family’s home. But it’s as good as you’ll get, right? When you’re 17 and dependent on your guardians?

Clattering not much unlike a baby’s rattle, the objects bob around on the nightstand behind Dan, as Phil reaches for out for his glasses. When he finally gets them on his face, he looks Dan in the eyes. 

They’re pure chocolate. Bespeckled with honey sun, yes. Gorgeous and elating all the same.

_ “Where’s your boyfriend, wimp! The brown eyed one!” “Shut it dickhead!” “Michael, watch my jacket, Imma teach him!” _

Phil feels all the panic drain out of him, but an uneasiness brews in his gut. Something about this situation seems eerily similar. More than déjà vu… 

Wrapping their arms around each other comfortably; then Phil scoots a bit, just to show he’s adjusted. Though he rests his head on Dan’s smooth, tan chest.

“How’re you doing? Alright there, beauty?”

All the heat runs to Phil’s head as he blushes. He mumbles a faint response but it gets lost as he presses his whole face into the beautiful cushiony flesh underneath the left peck. Silence encases them, not unlike angelic cotton and clouds insulating the world. Shielding them from piercing, judging gazes. 

\- / - / - / -

**Amour, blustering and breathtaking.**

Polychromatic; the eyes of Phil meet his own. Blue, green, and yellow shimmering lustrously in the light that seeps through the blinds. A sigh of relief sways on his lips. Dan holds him tighter, their limbs entangled, because he can tell Phil is practically clinging for dear life. 

Neither one wants to let go quite yet, still he feels him pull away bit by bit. Clearly the panic, of whatever kind it was, had faded. He does not separate them, though. His forehead rests gently on his chest.

He can hear a voice ask Phil if he’s alright. His own voice, he reminds himself. Dan’s own voice, piping in, caring and empathetic. 

He doesn’t sound like himself.

It’s a mere echo. The noise itself is far, far away when it wrangles itself loose from the iron grip of his throat, and it sounds more pathetic than empathetic. In his own opinion, at least.

_ “What if something’s happened on his way home? He’s my friend… I’d help him, no matter what, mum.” _

Blistering and scalding is the smile that grows against his bare skin, and soon his own face has a wide gap splitting it. With it, Dan can feel his face glow persimmon pink, just as Phil’s. However it’s all in a good and euphoric way.

They lay there, silent, for a while. He breathes in the floral, woody, and rather earthy, heady scent of Phil. Moments like these feel heavenly, and are few and far between.

Fortunately his dad was out for the weekend. 

Because it was the weekend. 

Right?

\- / - / - / -

**Callous, threatening and dark.**

It’s not just that he can’t remember going back to Dan’s last night. It’s also last night was a friday night, as far as he remembers.

Apparently not. By Karen shouting about seven o’ clock, breakfast, and the sudden appearance of Dan’s dad’s voice.

Shit. 

Both of them look, panicked, into the opposite pair of eyes. The creaking of the stairs sends the room into a frenzy. Phil clambers quickly over Dan and rolls onto the floor, taking the duvet with him. The thud is painful. Yet he curls up into it, letting the thick material drown his breathing and strangle his sweaty skin. Hiding him.

He can still hear Dan, who’s loudly scrambling for a tshirt to put on, one saving his dignity. 

_ “Isn’t that, um, Lester over there?” “Ye! That nerd… HEy fag!” “Ignore them, Phil.” “WIMP!” “Just keep on wal-” “DisgusTINg FAGGOT!” “-PHIL!” _

“DANIEL! Why aren’t you up yet!” 

The voice practically shakes the room, and it tears into into him even though he cannot see the source. Dan on the other end, whimpers out an apology and promises to be down in five. Phil is too scared to register the father’s response. He’s shaking.

Exiting, the thuds carry the danger away. Shortly, a car engine wakes the whole neighbourhood up, and it’s followed by a window sliding open, letting a cold breeze in.

\- / - / - / -

**Cloaking, nasty and baneful.**

Dan stalks over to where the duvet is on the floor. He didn’t register his hands were shaking until he pulls it away. He lets ‘yesterday’s’ clothes fall next to Phil’s stiff and gorgeous form. Dan can’t help the shine that rims his own eye at this.

“You’ll have to sneak out through the window.” he says apologetically. 

He only nods in response, but Phil still rises quickly and pulls his lanky limbs through heaps of fabric.

Electric shocks run up and down his spine at the peck that’s planted on his cheek. Cool and stinging and brittle, that’s what he feels. 

And a resolute familiarity, even though they have never before been this close to being caught together in the same bed. Never. Not naked. Especially not naked.

Angry, the imprint of his father’s face lingers. Jab after jab of insult pangs his brain. The swirling, thoughtless darkness wants to impose itself again, though this time ferocious and hunting for blood.

The blue morning sky contrasts well with Phil’s dyed hair and matches his soft pale skin. He’s never made this observation before, he realises.

_ “Daniel, put the phone away.” “But mom!” “Please, Daniel.” “I’m waiting for...” “What?” “A text from Phil. He said he’d text half an hour ago!” “Dan. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Put the phone away until you’re done with the soup.” _

He hopes he won't have to make the observation again with Phil climbing out a window.

\- / - / - / -

**Riot, unseen and fallacious.**

It takes Phil twelve minutes to walk back home. Five to dress into his uniform and throw a cup of ice cold coffé into his system. Another five to realise he left his backpack at Dan’s. And at that point, with thirty minutes to walk to school since nobody’s home and they don’t have three cars, he can’t do anything but to go without his books. 

Disheveled, but he’ll be there nonetheless. 

The red brick school building looms over the grey field. It’s one solid rectangle, with one wing way out to the left, where on the top floor the teachers’ offices are housed. The middle two contain the specialized music, crafts and arts classrooms and on the ground floor is the cafeteria. In the rest off the building none of the classrooms are organised by subject.

Way to the right is the gym, barely noticeable in the distance, for it is on the other side of the field and the attached car park. He doesn’t ponder for he reaches the staircase at last.

Phil rushes inside with the rest of the cliques. He skids directly up to his classroom door, which is fortunately along the main corridor.

_ “Lester, Thompson and Wright! No running in the halls!” “Sorry Mrs.!” “Youths these days.” _

English teacher Mrs. Young, who’s anything but that, greets him with only a sour expression and a twitch of her fist. Her aged face looks like complete opposite of his cherished grandma, and it settles a doubt that she is one.

Scurrying past with a fake smile, the anxiousness growing in his gut, Phil scurries off to his seat by the second window from the front. It’s not a perfect spot, but at the very least it’s not in the front.

A gust of wind follows him as the door slams shut, and he sinks into the uncomfortable, rugged chair. His limbs cramp at the lack of space between his shins and the hard wood.

He glances to the left. A big mistake, for Andrew Davies and Brandon White sit on the same row as him, and they’re already glaring him down.

Phil shifts nervously, afraid and apprehensive: they’re part of the bullying jock gang at the school. Alongside Andrew’s brother Blake, the oldest chap in the year, and his best buddy Michael (who’s last name he’s never been told), they’ve bullied him ever since he moved down from Manchester eighteen months ago. He’s not going to deny that they make life a living hell, but Phil couldn’t possibly care about their whispering in this moment. Everything’s already so confusing and his head hurts. So he lowers it down onto his arms on the table, the splinters on the edge tickling his nose.

Any familiarity is fading at this point. The jocks glaring him down and planning his demise isn’t an unusual experience, so today might just be friday, and he dreamt that he woke on a saturday, dreamt of being thrown into a pool. Phil could tell you he definitely hasn’t been thrown into a pool. 

And then Mrs. Young announces that today they’re watching Dead Poets Society. With nobody protesting that they already have.

Things just got weird.

\- / - / - / -

**Rack, wringing and mauve.**

The cold air bites his hands. He’s carrying two backpacks flung over his arms, the heavier and metallic grey one his own. He forgot his jacket at home, too, so the wind tugs at his uniform jumper. The material of the pants are neither made for the weather, either. November really is the worst time of the year, Dan thinks to himself.

It’s 7:25, his phone tells him. He starts in five minutes with music class, and it couldn’t get much worse.

He won’t be able to give Phil his stuff, since he starts fifteen minutes afterwards and Dan really can’t skip this class. He’d get detention. 

Secondly, he hates the way the school teaches music. It’s not freeform and he’s never allowed to play piano. 

Thirdly, Blake is in that class. Dan shudders even thinking about him. His blood boils, for Blake is of the highest definition of an absolute blighter. They used to be friends in middle school, but older age and new people to impress changed him. Drastically. 

_ “Skipping school, Danny?” “No, but I see you are, ‘ick’eads and ‘ullies.” “Bastards can’t speak to us like that! Especially not wit’ food in their mouths! Do something Brad!” “Zip it Mike.” “You can’t call me that!” “I’ll call you cunt then!” _

And lastly, his father had left an angry note on the fridge for him. That is bad enough to put anyone off their breakfast, let alone music class and school and shitty people. And shitty people in school. 

An aching pulls back and forth in his chest as he walks. Swirls, and swirls upon swirls of damaging patterns and pondering thoughts burns into his mind. 

Maybe Phil thinks this was too close of a call to be over any more times. Maybe he thinks he’s a waste of time, considering Dan’s made him come late on multiple occasions. Maybe Phil doesn’t like sneaking out through the window like he’s part of some secret affair. Maybe the transfer that’s meant to arrive today is a boy much prettier and more perfect than Dan, and Phil will fall in love!

He scolds himself for thinking such things, just as he’s turning the familiar streetcorner where the bus stops for school. The street lamp on that corner is always on, even when the others are off like now, and it’s flickering and pulsating rather creepily. 

Pushing the invasive, destructive thoughts out of his head, he approaches the ugly building, greeted by a practically empty frontier.

There’s only one other student in the corridors once he gets inside, pushing the wide doors open to escape the cold, just short of the start of class. She’s got platinum blonde hair which is sparkling in the hallway lights, a bright smile plastered onto her face, pink round cheeks, and she’s of course wearing the standard uniform. That’s the only way he knew she was a student, for she really doesn’t look her age. 

They get acquainted rather quickly. She says she’s originally from Wokingham too, though he’s never seen her there before, so he’s unsure if he believes that. He finds her name is Emily Ingram, and that she is the new transfer student. He lets out an inconspicuous sigh of relief at that. 

“What year are you in?” he asks, eyeing the clock behind her with wary, his brow creased. 

“I’m seventeen, so you can guess for yourself.” Bobbing up and down on her heels, she sing songs: “I’m in the international science and language program, quite exciting!” 

“So you have english now...”

“Yes I do, good sire!” she chuckles, her platinum bob swaying with the movement. Her whole body moves with every tiny crease on her face, every sound she utters exaggerated by every limb.

He musters up a: “You wouldn’t mind bringing this bag with you? I’m not in that class and my.. friend forgot it at my place last night. His name’s Phil.”

Her gaze is strong and fierce, but her tone of voice certainly doesn’t come up to par with it. “Sure! Emily is always happy to be a good samaritan!” She stretches her hand out and he drops it. She catches it fast, but the weight does make her drop slightly. Crinkling her eyes in concentration, the bag gets hoisted onto her back.

“Thank you.” he mumbles gratefully. “Also, um, I have a class to run to, sorry for cutting this short...” Dan rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground. Her eyes are still crinkled but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying to avoid eye contact. As far as he’s seen, her gaze can be piercing and harshly accusing. 

“No worries…” She gestures animatedly towards him, with a playful expression. The hand movements are rather extra, but Dan can’t complain. He does that too. Finger guns and all.

Well, okay, maybe hers are a bit more over the top.

He’s still staring at her confusedly when the realization hits him like a brick wall. “DaN!” he chimes in just as he understands what she’s alluding to. The voice crack rather intense. She chuckles once more. The awkwardness pierces him, though she doesn’t seem to notice and only continues with her babbling. 

“Dan! Before you go, you wouldn’t mind me asking this, would you: what are you planning on majoring?”

“Oh…” Glancing at the clock once more, he smooths his creased blazer out with his left hand. “Photography, why?” 

She doesn’t respond, intentionally or not, for a middle-aged teacher in a smart olive suit suddenly approaches behind her. He can barely wonder how she knew he was there, with her back turned and all, because that teacher is clearly looking for him. His stomach drops. Mr. Fry-Summers it is, obviously, with his greying blonde hair and brute figure. He gestures towards Dan with a grim expression. 

“Later than usual, Mr Howell!” he barks, then looks silently between him and Emily. “Let me escort you to music, alright… I’m sure Mr. Hope would be very glad to hear you’re skipping his class for flirting with girls!” 

Mr. Mean is what they call him.

Dan gulps down his anxiousness and nods quietly, his hair falling into his eyes.

He makes eye contact with Emily. There’s a grin on her face and an uncomfortable all-knowing glint in her eye. He gulps again. Sweat makes the blazer stick to his back, which he arches. 

She ushers him, so he takes a couple of strides forwards, and Mr. Mean turns swiftly. He takes one last careful look back at Emily, and he assumes she is still standing there smiling after him when she passes out of sight as they round the corner.

She’s quite eccentric, he thinks. Not in a bad way though, for Phil is eccentric too.

\- / - / - / -

**Myth, scarlet and fabricated.**

The moment Phil exits the classroom relief washes over him. Pressures of Andrew and Brandon’s stares gone.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, suddenly, and he whirls around. It almost knocks the platinum blonde of her feet. But he quickly scrambles and grabs her arms to steady her. 

There’s a smile running across her face, an all-knowing one, but she’s incredibly unfamiliar.

He only notices she’s holding his bright blue backpack when she holds it up to him, still grinning. “Daniel said to give this to you, Phil!” she cheers.

Practically taken aback at how she knows his name, he takes a physical step back. He doesn’t question it though, since she seems nice enough, and she did give him his bag even considering they’re strangers. The backpack hangs from his forearm, and bobs lightly as he nods appreciatively. 

Thanking her, he reaches into his pocket and picks up a small, jagged note.

“I don’t know your schedule, let alone your name… but if you happen to pass Dan in the corridor, could you give him that?” he says, and puts it gently into her hand. She watches it intently, then closes her fist around it in confirmation as he moves his hand away.

“It’s E-m-i-l-y!” she sing songs, moving her hands behind her back, and they chuckle together. Phil has at this point noticed she’s rather tall despite her youthful appearance, and it’s not just from the bobbing on her heels. “You wouldn’t mind me asking, but what are you gonna major in?”

“English language or something similar, probably.”

She hums contentedly, a smirk growing on her face. “Classic.”

“What’s that supposed to-”

“Philly!” Their eyes are drawn to the source of the thrilled shouts. A girl of their age who’s significantly shorter than either of them, with silky black hair, skips towards them. “Philphilphil!” 

“Um… Hi Dorothy?”

_ “Philly… you wouldn’t mind helping me with the lab set?” “You’re only doing that so he’ll touch your hands!” “I’m not! Shut. it. Andrew.” “You have a crush on him!? How could you! Dory!” “Evans and Davies! Settle down.”  _

_ _

She leans ungraciously into him, grabbing onto his arm full force, and he nearly drops the bag. Hoisting it up over his left shoulder, and crosses his arms. Eyeing warily. Only Emily notices how uncomfortable he seems. She seems to be thinking pretty hard about it, for her eyebrows and nose scrunches. 

“There’s this movie on in the cinema at eight…” she giggles, and Phil sends her a weak smile before looking away again. “maybe you’d like to go…” Reaching up, she grabs a strand of his hair and twirls it gently around her finger. He freezes like a deer in headlights. “I know you find me-” she leans in closer to his ear, and Phil closes his eyes to block out the sheer uncomfortableness, which is digging into him like spikes. “-pretty hot…”

“EvANS!”

Like a shock of deadly lightning strikes them, Dorothy is flung off his arm and he jumps three feet to the left. Emily grins up at him. A cheeky twinkle ever present.

And then he notices the girl who’s now striding towards them, looking cross and put off. Dorothy looks truly disappointed.

Emily’s smile grows wider and wider by every second. Then the girl is standing in front of them: “You don’t suppose you could take your little friend here and go?” Emily chimes.

The girl eyes her passively, but takes Dorothy around the shoulders. As she strides away, she tells them both to bugger off. The clique they belong to stares and giggles.

Phil turns back towards Emily; “That was-”

The spot’s empty. She vanished? he thinks, frantically looking up and down the hall. The classroom door still closed, he knows she can’t have gone that way.

He ends up shrugging it off, turning away from the clique. Making his way towards his next class, geography, Phil prepares himself to meet Michael. He’s uncertain if he can handle that pressure today. Then again, every day is like that. Every Friday.

Then he thinks back to Emily and realizes she’s the only unfamiliar thing that has happened yet, today.

\- / - / - / -

**Merry, mirthful and linty.**

“To hell with you, Blake!”

“Mr. Howell. Mr. Davies. Stay after class.”

“Ugh. You always get us into trouble!” Blake moans. Dan groans audibly at that. Not his fault, most definitely. Blake decided to insult Phil rather vulgarly and then he got what he deserved! 

If the ruler that snapped on his temple was any sign of that.

They’re standing outside the closed classroom door as the rest of the students file away to their lockers. Blake is glaring him down, but he tries not to focus on that. Rather, on the lump growing in his throat. Today really went from bad to worse. And so the door flies open, revealing Mr. Hope with his back to the teachers desk and the piano visible at the far window.

“Mr. Davies can wait outside, Daniel…” Hope eyes him expectantly, then goes back inside. “Close the door please.” So he does.

Mr. Hope sits gracefully on his chair, legs crossed. He makes eye contact before speaking, not caring about the creases on his velvety suit. He envies that. 

“I’m not going to report you, Daniel.” he says. Dan’s jaw falls open. Gaping like a fish, he tries to grasp audible words of gratitude. Mr. Hope holds his hand up, signaling that he still needs silence.

“I do however need you to never do that again…” Glancing out the window after catching the nod, he says; “In my presence. Or in the presence of any teacher, matter of factly. Behaviour like that wouldn’t be tolerated on school grounds however… I heard what Mr. Davies said, and considering all of that was unprompted…” Hope runs a sweaty hand through his deep blonde hair, then faces him again. His elbows placed flat on the table and palms together, he says: “You’re off the hook.”

Dan gives him and understanding nod, again, and sighs with relief. He wipes his forehead on his sleeve. His face was getting clammy under all of the pressure.

“I’ll be forever grateful.” he croaks. “I’ll do anything to pay you back.”

Mr Hope wags a disapproving finger at him, but smirks dorkily. “Be careful what you promise! But no,” he asserts, “you won’t have to repay me nor anyone else. Alright.”

“Alright.” He concludes. 

Relief washes through him, a ripple of happiness and joy sparkling eloquently. 

After his little speech, Mr. Hope rises. Opening the door for Dan to walk out, and then he pulls Blake in by his shoulders, who’s frowning at Dan’s delighted expression. He smirks even wider at that. Even then, shoots a little wave in Blake’s direction, before skipping off as soon as the door slams shut. He’s only felt this happy at being let off by a teacher once before. Though he can’t quite recall when that was.

Golden bronze churning inside him, and his stomach and lungs feel lighter than air. For a while his smile is wider than the mariana trench. Crinkles form around his eyes, and Dan is happily skipping down the second floor wing with bubbles in his throat, angel clouds in his head. The room spins, and he turns the corner with a searing light of delight within.

_ To Phil: Meet me in the third floor bathroom in 10 - I’m being sent home “Put that phone away!” “Sorry!” _

_ _

Pang!

A vacuum sucks most of the light out. Terrible pain spreads up the back of his legs, and the floor is icy cold underneath his bum as he hits it. It’s confusingly unfamiliar, and he’s uncertain of what disorients him more; that or the pain.

“I’m so sorry!” a muffled voice shouts out, and tears burn beneath his retinas.

Someone, somewhere, helps him up. He’s steadied against a row of lockers. Instinctively he tries to smooth his blazer out but someone grabs his hands to stop him. He assumes it’s the same person who’s helping him.

The corridor comes into focus, and it doesn’t take him long to recognize the platinum blonde bob. She looks more stressed out than earlier.

“Emily!” he gasps, and then clutches his chest. It hurts less now, but he’s still out of breath.

She smiles at him. “I’m terribly sorry.” she says, while smoothing out his creases herself. Her voice is soothing and the pounding in his ears subsides. “Terribly terribly sorry.” Dan nods gently at her. Forcing words out would bring the pounding back.

“It was good I ran into you though!” she cheers, back to her normal demeanor within short. “I had a message to relay…” With that, she reaches into her own blazer pocket and pulls out a scruffy piece of notepad paper. She puts in into his pocket, and clips it shut with a pat.

“From a special someone…” she grins, and then waves at him. “You should go to the nurse… can you manage on your own?” A grimace flies across her features.

“Yeah…” he croaks. “I’ll try!”

She smiles gently at him, and apologizes again. He swivels around, then stumbles towards and drags his feet up the polished staircase, away from her gaze, and soon the nurse’s office is within sight.

Closed. That’s what the sign says. He sinks to the floor next to it, and pulls out the note just as he remembers it’s there.

\- meet me by the bus stop - is what it says. It rejuvenates some of that smileyness and warmth inside him that he lost from the crash.

Dan decides he doesn’t mind if the nurse takes a bit longer time to arrive. That’ll just give him more time before he’s sent home.

\- / - / - / -

**Abscond, succumb and enliven**

Phi can hear their chatter long before he sees them. He tries to keep his head down nonetheless. 

“Does anyone know how many countries adjacent to Burkina Faso?” 

Brandon. 

“MememE!” 

Michael.

“Tell us Lester!” 

Andrew.

He’s almost past them. Almost. He can see the cafeteria entrance from here, and it’s gratefully

“Hey teachers pet.” 

Blake.

Phil flinches away from the growl by his ear, almost hitting his head on the top edge of the locker next to him. He tries to jump back, but Blake’s too quick and he grabs his wrists violently.

“Heard you been chatting up my girlfriend, huh.”

“W-what?” Phil stutters, confused. He knew Dorothy and Blake were dating at some point (from some stupid high school rumor), but on top of never having seen them together and never having chatted her up himself, for obvious reasons, he doesn’t understand why he’d suddenly be so mad.

He’s also never had this ‘talk’ with Blake before. Still something is uncomfortably recognizable about the situation.

“After English, she told me. You were… Going all on about her lipstick and curves and movie daTES!” He practically shouts the end of the sentence, making multiple onlookers stare them down.

And Phil realises then. She lied! She’s cheating on Blake and putting the blame on him! 

In that moment Mr. Mean rounds the corner. Seeing Blake tugging violently at Phil’s blazer and his shocked expression freezes him on the spot. But he’s quickly charging towards them again and tears them apart, with a bit more force on the side of Blake. At that point the crowd has scattered, seeing Mr. Mean in his natural element. He truly can scare the hell out of anyone.

As soon as he’s free Phil pushes towards the cafeteria once more. He sees the shocked faces of the gang glaring after him, and he hears the feeble protests of Blake, who’s desperately trying to protect his dignity. Phil doesn’t really care. 

Then he sees the faces of his friends Taylor, Molly, and Ian, shying away at a table in the furthest corner of the hall. Ian waves brightly as soon as he spots him, and leaving the ruckus behind him Phil approaches. 

Just then his phone dings, and he stops in his tracks in the middle of the hall, pulling his phone into his sleeve to discreetly check the screen. 

It’s a text from Dan. For a second his face lights up, then a suspicious gut wrenching feeling settles within him. The text itself however, gives him a lukewarm blend of the two.

It reads: Meet me in the third floor bathroom in 10 - I’m being sent home

_ “God I love you.” “You’ll be fine, yeah.” “As long as you promise to call?” “When have I never, Daniel!” _

  
  



End file.
